


Take me for a little while

by Goldragon (thebookhunter)



Series: So long ago and out of sight [14]
Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: I hope it's okay, M/M, anyone who knows me knows i have a lil bit of a jealousy kink, basic edits, bit of that person swap happened then reeled back? i just roll with it, for a change, go go go, hint of Jimmy's subby streak, i can't hope to catch up so i'll leave it to your imagination, i hope is okay, it explains the thorki thing i guess, it just sort of happened what can i say, jimmy is an unreliable narrator of his own life and mind, jimmy you're about to get the full HOW VERY DARE YOU plant treatment, just make sure you GO for it, my favourite disaster men being particularly disastrous, robert can be such a bitch honestly it's pure poetry, so we struggle to imagine them angry fucking, subtle what is subtle, that goes for both of them, the only one, this is the closest i could get?, this kind of raw, which we love in this house, you lucky bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/Goldragon
Summary: Jimmy and Robert cross paths on their separate ways, let's say in Cleveland because I'm a romantic.(*)Jimmy is in the middle of his triumphal Page/Coverdale tour, headed for Japan.Robert... Well. Let's just say he got the message.(*) What do you mean "???" PAGE/PLANT NO QUARTER 1994!! Keep up people, I'll be asking questions later...)
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: So long ago and out of sight [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700926
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	Take me for a little while

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Page/Coverdale song. Thanks Leds!
> 
> Warning for Jimmy's occasionally misogynistic language. Not addressed at anyone in particular, and not a lot of it, mind. He's just a man of his times. (Honestly we make him a lot nicer than he probably is but hell we want to love the guy, we have to write him. Give us a break.)

“David Coverversion.” 

There’s an explosion of laughter around the table. Even Jimmy can’t help a chuckle. Robert spots it (he’s been keeping a hawk eye on him since they all sat down) and the scoff he’s kept all night turns a bit more savage, scenting blood.

Jimmy supposes he should step in perhaps, stand for poor David. Make a show of it at least. But he can’t be bothered. Right now he’s having trouble stopping his smile from spreading from ear to ear. A petty, knowing smirk is all he can manage. It’s not like everyone else doesn’t know where Robert’s merciless tirade is coming from. Sharp as they can be, right now he waivers his wits like a blunt object. And he doesn’t give a toss how it comes across, how obvious he is being. Well, a great deal of his talent as a vocalist is expressivity. It’s not like he can turn it off and on just like that, is it. Certainly not when he’s this wired. 

It’s beautiful. He’s ridiculous, and absolutely ravishing. He goes about with his broken heart on his sleeve and his lonely hard-on for Jimmy in his hand. Jimmy mostly avoids looking at him. When he does, he’s confronted with an interesting blend of puppy eyes seeking validation (the slightest gesture of amusement from Jimmy makes them shine) and the vicious, brutal glare of a beast ready to gut, tear, and maim. It’s delicious. It’s irresistible. Triumph is a strong drug. If Robert at his cockiest and most self-assured is unbearably sexy, the sight of him trembling with jealousy like this goes right to your head.

Jimmy is due for Japan with David next. Since he was in town, he thought it would be fun to gather a couple of friends from the old days for a drink. Checking in on Robert was not in the schedule. It's an unforeseen, yet welcome perk.

The puppy eyes seem to take over as the night comes to a close. Those don’t work on Jimmy. Irritate him at most. It’s pitiful. Where are the claws and the maws, Percy?

Robert made sure Jimmy knows where he's staying. Put the room key on the table, and went on for a while about the shortcomings of the hotel. Which is rather funny coming from a man capable of waking up refreshed, and in an exhaustingly great mood, after sleeping all night in a bloody tent in the middle of the bleeding desert, with goddamn rock piles for a loo. 

Did he think he was being subtle, or does he perhaps not give a damn? It’s always hard to tell with Robert. He’s always bursting at the seams with it. Fear of exposure only goes so far with him, especially in this devil may care kind of mood. Victory or death, babe? No surrender and no prisoners. No quarter. And Jimmy is the prize. Oh, the romantic streak in this man is miles wide.

  
  


Jimmy sits in the lounge of Robert’s hotel for a while. He makes a decent go at pretending he’s thinking about it, to an audience of one, himself. The truth of the matter is, he’s letting Robert stew in it, and taking great pleasure in imagining him climbing up the walls, waiting. Anxious. Afraid Jimmy is not going to turn up, his mind tormenting him with visions of David and Jimmy going at it. Jimmy might as well twirl his imaginary mustache, relishing the success of his plan, if the whole silly affair wasn’t so ludicrous.

He _is_ a bit sorry for David. He really is. He’s taken to him more than he thought he would. How could he not, thinking about it now. He’s so eager, so passionate about the material. He’s beautiful pouring his everything in it. He brings his own approach, and he’s bold and fearless about it, owning it and taking it to heart and embracing it fully. Jimmy hasn’t had such a devoted dance partner for a long, long time. When he stands up for their work, he is thoroughly sincere.

When he protests about Robert’s reaction, and expresses dismay and incomprehension, he is not.

What keeps the whole thing tight enough to put the fear of god into Robert’s heart is that Jimmy seriously considers from time to time sticking with it. Sticking with David. For a while at least. He’s enjoying himself immensely. He’s excited. He could go on and on with this, he really could. For the first time in decades, he can honestly look past Robert without that chilling shudder.

And so, he doesn’t reek of despair anymore. He feels younger and stronger than he has in a long, long time. A pair of adoring, bright eyes in a beautiful face will do that to you. The undivided attention of a devoted crowd, the acclaim of the critics. And Robert’s explosive jealousy, such an open display, not a moment’s thought for how it comes across, whether it’s humiliating or obscene, that's just the cherry on the cake. It used to be the main purpose. It's... a relief. Jimmy is soaring. He twirls the drink in his glass, takes a deep, luxuriant drag of his fag, blows like a 1930s femme fatale, dwelling in his power. Not the crazy, uncontrolled rush of once upon a time, riding the carnival cut open lengthways, the thrill and the danger so much, too much. Something more deliberate this time, slower, satisfying in a way that grounds rather than buoys. He’s not running now, trying to catch up with his own wave. He’s master of the bloody seas. He’s safe.

Except he’s here in the lobby of Robert’s hotel, itching to...

He can pretend it’s all part of it, the waiting, another cog in the gear of a twisted strategy to get what he's after. He can pretend all he wants. Ultimately he knows what’s what.

_You’re the only one._

And suddenly he’s waited long enough.

In the flicker of an eye, the smile of sheer relief on Robert’s face turns sharply into something darker, far from amiable. He drags Jimmy in, slams the door, shoves him against it. Clacking teeth when he kisses him like nobody has ever kissed him before, and nobody ever will. One claw in Jimmy’s hair to hold his head against the door while he has at his throat like he really means to rip it open. Hand on Jimmy’s crotch squeezing tight enough to hurt.

Jimmy had thought he’d take whatever Robert was thinking of dishing out with a show of mild detachment, but he never stood a chance. And to hell with it, frankly. He grabs the neck of Robert’s shirt, hooks his arms around his neck, splays his legs for Robert to wall him in as they kiss and suck the living daylights out of each other.

Thrown on the bed. Hard. Makes him feel as slight as Robert is strong. It should be emasculating, it’s not. Not with Robert. Never.

Robert standing between Jimmy’s spread knees, as if to make sure they’ll stay open. Oh, they will, no worries. Working at his own buckle and buttons and flies, they give away like butter between his fingers. So practiced. Jimmy takes his sweet time with his own. Sure enough, Robert soon takes over. Pulls his trousers down socks shoes everything off. Jimmy laughs, drunk.

Robert Plant at twenty-five was a vision from Jimmy’s dreams. Jimmy loved him trim and limber and boyish, his ever-blossoming beauty still delicate, almost unreal. Truth be told, he’s not usually into grown men. But Robert is not just any man. Jimmy takes in the sight of him, the bulk and the glorious might, looking wilder and more powerful than ever. He could bring young Robert to heel with a disappointed look. This man, he couldn’t bring him to heel if he begged him. Doesn’t he half know that. But here Robert is just the same. Here he is. This man knows who he is and knows he can stand on his own two feet and he doesn’t need Jimmy, he doesn’t _need_ him. But he hungers for him. Hell, he’s bloody starving. So hard already, fuck. He always forgets what his beautiful cock looks like when it’s raging hard. He can see it accurately in his dreams, but his waking memory really, really sells it short.

Neither memory nor dreams could never quite conjure up what Robert feels like when he’s unhinged like this. He can be eager, enthusiastic, forceful even. Passionate, sure. Hungered, most definitely. But this is rather new. He may not try to be gentle at times, but he wouldn’t throw himself at it like this, biting to hurt. Oh, he’s claimed him before, but not like this. This is coming from a place of real fear.

“Are you fucking him? Are you fucking him?”

It’s absolutely wonderful. Jimmy feels teeth and claws sinking in and hisses and gives in and his head is light and he’s going under. He’s going under. So fast.

“Jimmy, Jimmy…”

Oh, damnit, there it goes. Soothing with kisses, stroking. Jimmy throws his head back, disappointed.

Robert rubbing his whole face against him, nuzzling, forehead down his chest, soaking in the smell of him. Well, that was that.

“Jimmy…”

Oh, Robert, baby. Jimmy weaves his fingers in his hair and soothes him gently. He’s not immune. Hugs him with his thighs, cradles him. _Oh, love. I know, I know._

“Jimmy…” Puppy eyes, forlorn. “Are you fucking him?”

Jimmy smirks savagely. Sweet victory stokes the meanest, cruelest corners of his dark, wretched, needy soul.

Robert’s eyes turn wild. _Now_ he’ll flip him over and fuck him raw with nothing but a smack of spit, surely.

He doesn’t. When did he ever do what Jimmy expected. What he hoped for, even. Never gave him what he wanted. Gave him what he needed.

Jimmy never knew he needed _this_ : Robert sinks to his knees and has at Jimmy’s cock with his mouth like he truly meant to eat him and swallow him whole. Like an animal, technique and finesse out the fucking window. Jimmy whines and sinks his claws in Robert’s scalp and arches under his mouth. Robert grabs his wrists and leads them over Jimmy’s head, _fuck_. Jimmy tries to hook his ankles around Robert’s back. Robert grabs his legs and splays them wide. _Ah, fuck._ Now that’s a new notion. Staking claim and establishing ownership on his _knees_.

Sucking his balls in his mouth. Claiming more than pleasuring. _Yes._ Jimmy's knees up, spread open. He tenses up and whimpers in weak, less than half-hearted protest. They usually build up to this. Robert _knows_ not to... He throws himself at it like a freight train. Mouth on his hole, his tongue. _Mine, mine, mine._ This belongs to him, like everything else, to do with it as he pleases. And Jimmy gives and gives and gives because he's right. Because it's true. _Fuck, yes..._ He gives gives gives, it’s not even up to him at this point. He’s slipping under. His body's taken over. Surrender control, give over. So much peace. Oh, he knows what you need better than anyone else. He knows you better than yourself.

He has him slick and open, surely he’ll flip him over and rough him up like Jimmy fucking _deserves_ , because how did Jimmy fucking _dare_ , what did he think he was fucking _doing_. - Yes, Robert, yes. How did I dare. How could I. Come on do it, do it, rip me open, shape me to fit you and no-one else. No-one else, ever.

He doesn’t flip him over. He doesn’t push inside him. He fucking straddles Jimmy’s hips and spits on his hand and slicks himself up and sinks on him hard, pushing the air out of him. Jimmy beholds from underneath him, the strain on his face and the cool fury, Robert’s eyes shut tight, maybe with pain, maybe something else. Hands on Jimmy’s chest clawing. Bracing himself, but not just that. Holding on. Holding on. Oh, Jimmy struggles enough to get the meaning of people when they fucking talk to him, but Robert? He feels as if he can read him like an open book right now. A wide, confusing array of fears and insecurities blended with real anger and ultimately, always… _Yes, I know, baby, I know. Me too._

He reaches for Robert’s face. Cradles it, Robert nuzzles against it. A powerful beast that could trample Jimmy over, but is willing to be soothed with Jimmy's touch and the sound of his voice. Raging against doubt and fear like a fucking hurricane, razing them to the ground, volatising them; his own, and Jimmy's too.

Jimmy pushes his thumb into Robert’s mouth, no delicacy and no gentleness. His look is defiant, mean. _Don’t seek reassurance. Grip me by the throat and take it._

He fucks himself on Jimmy like he’s making a point, indeed. Crushes the air out of him with each slam. He’s strong and heavy and merciless. Jimmy grabs for him just to have his hands shoved away and held over his head once more. Squeezing the claim out of him. _Mine too, all mine._ He’s beautiful beyond words straining like that, muscles built from fucking, for fucking. For riding. _How many, Robert, how many._

 _You’re the only one_.

“Are you fucking him? Are you fucking him?”

_Younger than me, prettier than me, hotter than me. How many, Robert? Two at a time? Four? Ten? In dark backrooms, in discreet hotel rooms? In complicated configurations? In a fucking chain? How many, Robert?_

“Are you fucking him?” His voice breaking with the effort. Bracing himself on either side of you.

You fold your knees up to meet him when he slams down. Shifting his hips, he keeps it shallow for a bit, teases the head of your cock and himself, tears you to pieces. When he takes you deep again he looks dazed, calmer. When he picks up the pace again, he means business.

He wants you to come inside him. Absolutely fucking not. If you mean to claim me, then fucking _claim_ me.

You push. _Off me._ Push and squirm, a lazy, weak struggle, but it’s enough. _Off me._

He crumbles between your arms, panting, and you welcome him with your thighs wide open. You seek him with your hand and line him up and he slides right in and starts moving, all in one smooth flowing gesture. Force of habit. (Lock and key.) Just his hips at first, short stuttering movements, then the whole of him.

Too tender, too soft. _That's not what this is, baby._ You spur him with your eyes. _Oh, I’m fucking him, alright. Haven’t you seen? I’m fucking him with our music. Right in your fucking face. Where everyone can see us. We dance and sing and we fuck to your songs._

You wanted it rough. You get it hard, and slow, and deep. The fucking bed is moving, legs screeching. Controlled, steady beat. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ His hand fists in your hair, you arch your throat, he has at it. Slobbery and entitled. You’ll have a beautiful, enormous vampire kiss there tomorrow, it will show even with a scarf. You’ll be bruised and mangled and throbbing and you won’t be sitting pretty on the plane to Japan. The thought of it, god. He's got you moaning like a whore, coming out of you in bursts.

He takes it up a notch, but carefully. His eyes let you know clearly this is not tenderness. He means to undo you. His grunts and gasps husky and deep. You wrap your arms around him, your legs, and he lets you. It doesn’t slow him down or break his pace.

You're the one clinging now. You feel the change in you coursing through him. He touches you, hair and neck and down your chest, tender but with an edge. Despair. When he stares down at you next he doesn't beg, he doesn't ask for a thing. And you would give him anything. Everything. He kisses you deeply, and you let him, you take it. You kiss him back and moan in his mouth when he slams himself home again, and again, and again. You've been exquisitely at odds all night, itching, missing turns, chasing, dodging, teasing, taunting. Now you're dancing.

_You’re the only one._

He sits back and leads your hand to yourself and his eyes are fierce. _Show me._ You’re pretty desperate at this point, but you want… you want… He gives in. _Oh, Robert, you really must be terrified._ He touches you. Fucks you and jerks you off and you tense all over and whine like a bitch, and shudder. 

He’s staring at your face like he wants it seared in the back of his eyes. Who the hell looks at people like that. _Robert, Robert..._ He touches you and he moves and your breath cuts off and you whimper and seize up.

He’s the only one.

Your hand around his as you come, spunk on your chest, your belly, between his fingers and yours. He’s still staring. You shake up, his cock still inside you, his hand still tight around your cock, you fix your eyes on his as he thrusts deep and slow to finish up. You watch him. You watch him as he falls apart inside you.

Dazed and exhausted, he crumbles over you. Face in the crook of your neck, fire hot breath. You hear every gasp and every twitch of his breathing along the arc of his climax. He’s heavy and he’s clinging, and you hold him tight and you let him hold you. When you weave your fingers in his hair you’re gentle. Together like that, fucking stuck by your own spunk and his fear and his need.

Panting against each other, sated. He's crushing you and grounding you and you can't help but hold him back. He was being so obnoxious about it all, you’d half started to fear yourself it was a charade, exaggerating for effect. Playing to the crowd. You know you can always rattle his chains, that doesn’t mean he still…

They cling to each other until Robert goes soft, then Jimmy pushes him off. Robert lies still, sprawling like a marionette cut off his strings. Even his eyes are fixed and blank. If he wasn’t still breathing hard, he’d look quite dead.

“Stay,” Robert says. But he hasn’t the least shred of hope that Jimmy will say yes.

Jimmy finds him exactly as he left him after tidying up a bit - His clothes are quite a mess, but nobody will bloody notice, with that face. Thoroughly ravished mouth, hair wild, messed up. He couldn’t do much about either. Perhaps if he’d had a shower. He won’t have a shower. Not yet anyway.

He steals one last look, already yearning.

“Do you love him?”

It stops Jimmy in his tracks, hand already on the door handle,

He has an answer to that. It’s sincere.

_Yes. Maybe. A little._

He leans by the bed, and strokes the hair away from Robert's face, and kisses him. He indulges himself, because if he knows Robert a bit, it will be a while. He presses their foreheads together. Sighs deeply.

_You’re the only one._

Robert turns his face to kiss him back, hand around the back of Jimmy's neck. When Jimmy pulls away, Robert's eyes are brighter, not altogether hopeful, but fierce again. He looks fucked out and exhausted and he’s exactly like he used to be and nothing like it. Relieved, but not quite certain. _Don’t be. Even if I am.  
_

At the door again, he turns one last time. Robert’s turned on his side, curled up. The hollow of his body calls to Jimmy more temptingly than Robert’s begging ever could.

When he closes the door behind him, Jimmy grips the handle, struggles to let go.

_Baby, don’t keep me waiting long._

**Author's Note:**

> I do not imply or suggest by this that I believe David and Jimmy were actually, physically fucking. I mean, I did not intend for the fic to suggest that, even. It's Robert's mind working itself up to a frothing lather, and Jimmy leaving it in limbo because that's exactly what he wanted to happen. He knows what happened, David (may I call you David sir*) one supposes knows too, but Robert doesn't, nor does this writer, and neither do the readers.
> 
> Musically fucking, yes, in the Led Zeppelin kind of way, making music together and performing and sharing soundwaves and touching souls a lil. But touching dicks? I have no idea and, what is more, I honestly have no opinion. I just know that photoshoot(**) worked a treat XD
> 
> (*) sorry. when I try to call you Coverdale I always get Coverversion. I'm channeling hard what can I say.
> 
> (**) just google page / coverdale and click on images and have the jaw holder ready. It's OBSCENE.


End file.
